Max stood on the front porch of his cabin in the north. Days were becoming longer. The slow drips of melting snow dripped from the roof. His wood pile, a short distance to the side of the cabin, stood near exhausted. In the last week nearly six inches of snow melted away from the tree trucks in the woods.
The harsh, long, bitter winter was now over for Max Thurston.
“Survive, hmmm, that calls for heroic words and deeds,” Max thought. “However, I’m not so sure it is either. Surviving is a matter of just plugging on, one step in front of another. Some have hope or expectation of a positive outcome, others only wish for an end of a trial – or winter.”
He lost a dog in a blizzard. The loneliness drove him to near madness.
A grizzly came one night hoping for a midnight snack. After twenty frightening minutes of him trying to come through a bolted door and shuttered windows, he took out his frustration on a porch post. When it snapped like a match stick, an avalanche of snow from the roof buried him, he dug his way out, shook himself off, and lumbered away for something less challenging.
“And I was about to shovel the snow from the roof,” Max thought that day as the grizzly disappeared into the naked trees. “Somethings are meant to put off until tomorrow.”
“That bear and I had something in common,” Max thought. “Survival. He is indeed the fittest. And except for my own lack of diligence, I have survived also.”
Max glanced at the rifle in the corner of his cabin. Like a palace guard it stood ready. “There I was on that day, aiming at the door from behind my bed. If he came through, he would have met with a 30-06 between the eyes.”
“Survival is sometimes random events that that delay the inevitable – for another time.”